


prate

by loupettes



Series: New Years Eve [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupettes/pseuds/loupettes
Summary: "In that moment he realised this new version of him had next to nothing in response to a backbone."Rose's friend threatens to snog the Doctor senseless on New Year's Eve, 2006. Ten x Rose
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: New Years Eve [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069142
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	prate

_Nope. No thank you. Very kind offer but no. No.-_

Bit late now, but perhaps he should have said that. Or something to that effect, when - _Shareen, was it? awfully close to ‘Slitheen’, must remember to investigate later_ \- told him she was going to snog him senseless at midnight. 

He wasn’t quite sure what did it for her, or at what point during their exchanging of pleasantries did she decide she was going to assault him with this piece of trivia, but alas, here they are. Why was it so darn hard to give a simple “no, thank you” to this slightly - no - _particularly_ zealous woman in her last quest of the year? Quite devastating, then, that he only replied with the most frail and uninspired “oh” he’s possibly ever brought to his lips.

“‘Oh _you bet’_ , you mean,” she teased, eyes dark and smouldering as they mapped out every inch of his new face. She probably knew his face better than he did at this point, he noted bitterly. 

_Hang on, how did we get here?_ He stumbled back and found he was not far from a wall in a particularly dim or otherwise perceived _sultry_ corner of the pub, realising _just now_ that he was helpless to an escape. And that’s a hand on his chest. And not even the shirt _on top of_ his chest, his _actual ches_ t. He glanced down and, lo and behold, her dainty little hand had meticulously slipped its way through his buttons, grazing his skin lightly as her breath blew onto his neck.

Bugger. 

“Yeaaaahhhhh,” he groaned in an attempt to articulate a swift yet considerate decline, but his inability to follow through with his intentions and form full sentences under any form of sexual flirtation presented itself to him in this moment of now instant regret. She cocked her eyebrow at that and tilted her head to look at him, mouth dangerously close to his. She took a hold of his tie with her free hand and took his glass away with the other, both of his hands now awkwardly levitating around her frame. He imagined that was potentially _not_ what she wanted him to do with his hands when she freed them.

In that moment he realised this new version of him had next to nothing in response to a backbone. God, this was going to be a tough regeneration. Especially around Rose. _Oh well, better luck next time._ He rather hoped his next time would be within the next few seconds. _Yes_ , he thought. _Yes, that would do quite nicely. Sorry, Rose, New New New Doctor, only this one isn’t a prat. And he knows how to handle himself in situations like these better than a 14-year-old boy._

“That’s what I’ll have you saying tonight,” she whispered against his skin. He’d almost had a few moments of blissful ignorance before remembering he’d replied to her intentions with an audible _“yeaaaaahhhh”_. To his horror, she ran her tongue lightly and seductively across his jawline. He shuddered, wishing to any notion of deity that would listen that he could exert even a slither of authority that might be attributed to being a _lord_ of god damn _time_ , when she leaned in _even closer yet_ and whispered oh so quietly, “When I’m -“

“I _think_ ,” he croaked, his voice betraying him by coming out an octave or two higher than he remmebered last hearing it, “it’s possible that I left my jacket over there, by that bar - _at_ the bar, I need it for my, for the thing,” he stumbled pathetically, “the thing in my jacket.” He pinched her wrist and extracted it from his chest back out through his shirt, ducking haphazardly as he slid down the wall and out of her reach. He heard her call out to him something along the lines of playing hard to get and he didn’t have much time to wonder how he could unsubscribe from whatever game they were playing.

“Rose!” he called out to her in a low timbre that was quite clearly not going to reach her. He navigated his way through the noisy crowds, shuffling between gaps and apologising as he went. He really had picked up her quintessential British mannerisms. She was perched on a barstool, chatting to the bartender who he vaguely recalled her labelling as John. Or Graham? One of the two, quite frankly he didn’t care. “Rose!” She looked up from her straw as he reached the bar.

She scoffed when she saw him. “Bloody hell, you’re already looking a bit worse for wear. This new regeneration of yours a lightweight by any chance?”

“No, listen to me, I’m not drunk-“ he started, squinting at her face and realising that it wasn’t quite holding as still as he’d like it to be. “Ok, well - I am a little bit, I’ll grant you that. In my defence, I didn’t know how this body was going to react to alcohol - especially not to that cosmopolitan you passed onto me because it was “too strong”. Which by the way-“

“Doctor.”

“What?”

“Get to it.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’ve just decided you’re too embarrassed to tell me.”

Someday, he might ask her how she knew that. Because she shouldn’t know yet how to detect when he was stalling, she shouldn’t have this new him sized so early. 

“Your friend - that, your friend, the one with the hair, she, well she, y’know.” 

“No, I don’t. Try again.”

He huffed in frustration, choosing not to entertain that little grin that was creeping up her face. Goodness, she had him sized for sure. 

_Back to it._ Where was he?

“Shazam, she-“

“Shareen?”

“That’s what I said. She just, well… she pushed me up against that wall-“

“Blimey, not even 8 days in and he’s spicing it up with the ladies.” Her grin was devilish and he was in half a mind to -

_Stop that right now._

He flashed her a glare. “I’m being serious Rose, this is serious!”

“You’re right, sorry. _Continue_ , my Lord.”

And _also_ someday, he’ll learn how to not feel like _that_ when she said stuff like _that_.

“Her hand, Rose. She’s handsy.” He scrunched his eyes and shook his head. “No, I mean she’s threatened to, and I quote, _‘snog’_ me _‘senseless’_ at midnight.”

Rose’s features hardened as she struggled to prevent an impending howl of laughter. She looked like she might cry with it, that smug little cow. Here he was, frightened for his dignity, and she was actually enjoying this. 

“Shut up.”

Her eyes widened; the corners of her mouth twitched.

“I said stop it.”

She pulled her face straight and back to serious and cleared her throat.

“Sorry. And how did that make you feel?”

“Alright, very funny.” He pulled a face, scowling at her. Marginally disappointed that this new face of his didn’t have her at least _slightly_ weaker at the knees. _Behave._ Orange juice for the rest of the night, he resigned.

“Oh Doctor, you’re a big boy. I’m sure you can handle the advances of a 21st-century woman-“

“Well, yes, you’d have thought by now I’d be an expert at it,” he said woefully.

She looked at him, confused. “What?”

 _That gob of yours._ _What have you done. “Graham that’ll be one orange juice for me, thanks”._

“I’m just saying-“He looked at her, shamelessly pleading. He was never going to live this one down. “- help me.”

She snickered. “No chance.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

He sighed and looked down at his watch. Hold on, where was his watch? Does he even wear a watch anymore?

“You bein’ serious?”

“What?”

“You’re a _time lord_.”

“Bit late, but yes, _seriously,_ I am a time lord Rose.”

“What’re you doing checking the time?”

“Figuring out how long I’ve got to configure a chameleon circuit and apply it to time lord biology.”

“Na, I mean-“ she looked at him tenderly. He rather thought she looked pretty, brilliant, in fact. When she’d hobbled from her room in Jackie’s flat not 38 minutes after their scheduled departure with only one shoe on, he was quite glad she was too preoccupied to hear what he could only assume was his pathetic excuse at concealing a gasp. He rarely saw her dress up - well, in her time’s attire at least -and whilst he was not one to observe physical beauty, this new version of him seemed to pick up more on the physiological responses to it. Well, let’s face it, specifically _hers_. And now she sat underneath the enchanted glow of golden Christmas lights, the backlight of the spirits display projecting little flecks of warm hues of pinks and apple green that managed to compliment her warm skin tone exquisitely. 

And then he realised she wasn’t looking at him tenderly in the sense he might have liked, but more sympathetically. Which probably made his state of bedazzlement seem that bit more unfortunate.

“Oh, stop it,” he huffed, turning his back to lean against the side of the bar. He scanned the crowd, now quite aware of his tall frame being more of a bullseye for libidinous females. He seemed to be getting a lot more attention from said cohort recently. He’d noticed it in the streets or in the odd second glance at the supermarket. Just the other day as he was begrudgingly dragged along to Primark by Rose to ‘pick up some basics’ and the lady at the checkout slipped him her number on the receipt. It wasn’t the intention he was going for when he quite literally died for the woman he was standing next to at the time.

“Remind me why we’re here again?”

She pushed him playfully, and it quite mortifyingly managed to throw his balance. “Oh come off it, you show me your world all the time. ‘thought it was ‘bout time I showed you mine.”

“ _This_ is your world?” He watched as two men arm-wrestled on one table and a group of 7 chanted _“chug! chug!”_ at one of their friends downing a pint on another. “Really?”

“Oi don’t knock it! Had some good laughs in here I have, over the years. Me and Mickey had our first date here. And we all came here the day we finished our GCSEs, big bunch of us. Trish couldn’t stop laughing at Danny for missing the entire last page of the lit exam. None of us could drink yet of course, but Graham’s been ‘round for years, I think since _he_ finished school. He’s served us loads of times.”

“Graham sounds a bit of a dodgy pal, Rose.”

“And then, of course, New Year’s Eve last year I hadn’t even met you yet!”

“Simpler times.”

She sighed wistfully in agreement. “And then it all went downhill from there.”

He spotted Jackie only a few feet away with a group of her friends, animatedly shifting some rather undignified dance moves in heels he was quite impressed she was stabilised in. Much to his horror, she caught his eye and beckoned him to join them. “Come on, you!”

He replayed his terror to Rose, who of course had little to no sympathy for him and cackled. She put her drink down on the bar and took his hand, leading him to them. He groaned in protest, but there was something about obliging Rose’s command that he appeared slightly powerless to resist. Sadly, he was unable to slip off out into the 1980s as he had quickly been subjected to the dismal English attempt at an Irish dance to the melodies of _Come On Eileen._

As it turned out, he was quite the embarrassing dancer when a little tipsy. Or maybe this was just his new style. An awkward ejit with a headful of hair. If it were indicative of his part to play in the dancing metaphor he shared with Rose, this did not bode well. Either way, something about the associated dance routine of the Macarena and Rose’s delightfully joyful giggles seemed to be somewhat of a fixed point in time he only had to entertain.

“There’s your friend,” Rose panted, calling someone over from behind him that he just bloody knew was Shareen. 

“ _Your_ friend," he corrected, subtly sliding past her to escape. It was only because of her playful smile that he stopped considering the ramifications of leaving her behind tomorrow.

…

 _How_ he’d managed to land himself in this position, he most likely will never know. Shareen’s hands had found his and she wedded them to her hips, similarly attaching herself to some poor unsuspecting victim in front of her just as a boisterous woman in her 40’s attached herself to the Doctor. A chain dance, he groaned, scanning his 900-year history in the hopes of detecting a worse moment that he could think himself grateful for not being in right now, but failing to deliver. And he’d died last week. But for some godly reason that he could only attribute to divine intervention, Rose yanked at his hand before the dreadful dance could fully commence.

“God, even _I_ couldn’t stand to watch that. But that’s the only time I’m helping you out, and you owe me, ‘kay?”

 _Literally, anything you want in the universe is yours,_ he thought, rather too eagerly. Pathetic, really. She didn’t even need to save him from the perils of human lust before he’d happily hand her all of time and space should flash one of those smiles his way.

“Aren’t you the flirt!” she grinned. He realised painfully, that he’d voiced his running inner monologue out loud. Though he didn’t have much time to hope that the Earth would swallow him up and end the line of time lords there and then in this dreadfully dingy pub in Southwark, because her hands were pulling on his tie and she was leaning in close to his ear. “I’ll bank that one for later.”

“Rose Tyler, _you_ are drunk,” he said, extracting himself from her hold. He had no idea what it was governing him in that moment because the both knew neither of them were tipsy by this point, but he fucking despised it, whatever it was. 

“Oh come on, dance with me!” she insisted, hands sliding down his arms to put his on her waist in a manner quite similar to Shareen’s earlier advances, but one he was much less reluctant to obey.

Now _this_ , he considered, was devilishly inappropriate. Her fingers glided back up to his shoulders, where they hesitated before daring them to travel further and wrap themselves around his neck. He mentally asked himself at what point over the last 8 days did this start to feel completely normal. It was all a bit _too_ natural. She shouldn’t really be so mindlessly tickling his skin with that electric touch of hers, smoothing his slightly dishevelled hair at the lower back of his neck as if she’d been doing so for years.

Their moves were completely out of place in their surroundings, considering. As _Build Me Up Buttercup_ echoed through the speakers, people around them were dancing messily and singing enthusiastically at the top of their lungs. But _this_ , here with Rose? No, this dance was deliberate, charged. His hands all too easily rested on the soft curves of her waist, fingertips gently caressing the silky fabric of her dress. She leaned in a touch closer, a movement that encouraged his hands to explore her anew, tracing their way up her spine until fingers reached warm skin where the open back of her dress dipped to just below her bra - or at least, where a bra would have been if she were wearing one. He breathed out steadily. He couldn’t recall ever being so close to her. _Far too intimate._

In an ideal world, he would have pulled away. He would have firmly indicated that everything was off the table without explicitly saying so and ruining whatever he perceived to be their dynamic. But then her hands slipped slowly down his neck and grazed the skin exposed by the undoing of his top button, then down to rest against his hearts and inspired a soft and content sigh to escape her lips. _Pull back_ , he willed himself. 

He had a rich vocabulary, and he knew an awful lot of words, in an awful lot of languages, in an awful lot of epochs. Yet, none of those words offered themselves to his lips. He felt betrayed. 

Her breath tickled the hollow of his neck as he came to realise she was chuckling. She was _chuckling_? _Another one to add to the list of wrongdoers._ “You might just be the oldest man I’ve ever slow danced within a pub.”

“Minx,” he accused, pulling away. _Finally_. He thanked whichever part of him was governing him now, although they would need to have words later.

“I wasn’t the one with my hands tracing suspiciously alieny symbols _seductively_ across the skin on my back.” She teased, releasing him. He resisted the urge to look down at his fingers and verify their actions that he was otherwise unaware of. Lots of betrayals this evening.

“What were you writing anyways? The secrets to the universe I hope.”

“Shopping list, actually. We need milk.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ta. I’ll remember to stop at Tesco’s on the way back -” she prodded his arm mid-thought, “ - actually, tightwad, I’ll think you’ll find it’s your turn.”

“Actually, Rose Tyler,” he mimicked, prodding her arm in return, “You keep messing up the milk, so I accept. Who wants green?” He pulled his face, disgusted. “Blue or gold, tea don’t taste right otherwise.”

“Green,” she maintained firmly. “Best of both worlds. I stand by my decision.”

She turned abruptly, he was about to call after her when he realised why she had.

“Two hours and six minutes, ‘till you’re all mine.”

He ducked any further development from Shareen, slipping into the group nearby of middle-aged women that he was fairly devastated to learn were attached to Jackie, but before he could play a game of eeny meeny between this scenario and the one he’d just narrowly and wittingly escaped, Mickey slapped him on the back as he appeared next to him to offer him a pint. “Here you go, mate! Cheers!” He clinked his glass against the Doctor’s before vigorously pumping his fist in the air and belting _“tune!”._ The familiar opening of Mr _Brightisde_ coursed through the room, and perhaps it was the slight sting alcohol-induced intoxication or the tantalising promise of a new dynamic with Rose, or perhaps it was simply that he felt oddly at home here in this cheap pub with Jackie Tyler screeching terribly out of tune in the face of a reciprocating Mickey, but for whatever reason, he joined in with them.

***

As a Time Lord, he will never quite understand how this evening was simultaneously the longest yet quickest of his life. Somehow, the prospect of midnight drew ever closer at an alarmingly slow pace, but much too quickly for his liking. He would catch her, of course, winking at him from the bar, or one particularly unfortunate encounter being stumbling into her outside, where there were no witnesses. “Come early, have you?” She grinned in pleasant surprise. He twirled round back into the pub at that. He even caught Rose and Shareen chatting and looking over at him in one of the booths in the corner. When Shareen got up to leave, taking her drink with her, he deduced he would be in the clear should he steal her spot.

He slipped into the booth opposite Rose and shook his head. “I can’t believe you.”

“She’s my mate!”

“And I thought you were mine!”

“Oh, come off it, she’s not that bad. Could have a lot worse.” Rose shrugged, a slight smile still resting on her face. If he were being honest, knowing that he could still bring out that smile himself steadied him. She took a sip of her cosmopolitan - which coincidentally was no longer too strong for her - and looked up at him. “Although, just as a warning, she does like a bum grab when she’s tipsy.”

“Well, get her a coffee then.”

“So you’ve braced yourself I see!”

“No avoiding it now, is there?” he said defeatedly. 

Rose’s brow drew together in an expression that looked ever so slightly like disappointment before she grinned and nudged his leg under the table. “That’s the spirit.”

“Budge up,” Mickey interrupted, ushering for Rose to slide over, which she did. He looked a little sleepy, the consensus on whether he’d make it to midnight was inconclusive. 

“Shareen’s gonna snog the Doctor later.”

“Oh, aye!” Mickey exclaimed. “Careful of her, she’s a bum-grabber.”

“Yes, I’ve been warned,” the Doctor muttered. He couldn’t stand the way both of them were looking at him, having far too much of a laugh about it. “Mickey, I’ll take you to see England win the World Cup in ’66 if you get me out of this.”

Mickey looked as though he were actually considering it. Rose scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you two are gonna get on.”

“Unlikely.” The Doctor shook his head.

“I saw you two swaying arm in arm to _Unchained Melody_ earlier so don’t think you can fool me.” She smiled happily at them, perhaps she was hopeful to assume they were fond of each other by now, but she liked to think the scowls they were giving each other were in jest. “Right, come on then, you,” - she pointed at Mickey, gesturing for him to get up - “You owe me a round of snooker.”

Mickey helped her shuffle out of the booth and she finished her drink, putting it back down on the table.

“You comin’?” she asked the Doctor.

He contemplated whether he wanted to watch 18 minutes of flirting between Rose and Mickey before deciding that he probably didn’t. “Na, I’m alright. Go whoop his arse, though.”

She grinned, scratching his head and he shamefully closed his eyes at her touch.

“Alright. Come find us at midnight though, yeah? Want to head into a new year with you the human way, for once.”

***

In the 17 minutes that followed, he helped a man called Joey locate his phone (it was in his pocket), he managed to finally order that orange juice and simultaneously accurately determine that Rose and Graham or John or whatever his name was had _not_ once been romantically involved, all the while paying extra attention to the whereabouts of a Shareen. The idea of her tongue down his throat became more disturbing as the deadline approached. He felt oddly robbed of the upper hand without a watch. It was bloody _New Year’s Eve_ , for Christ’s sake, where were all the damn clocks in this pub? 

But of course, no clocks were needed for the final 10 seconds of the night, as the room came together to count down to the start of the new year. He felt strangely anticipative, a feeling he had not felt in a while. With a shadow of a smile on his face, he watched as Mickey kissed Rose when the new day arrived, appreciative of the soft and considerate manner in which he did. They pulled away from each other and leaned in close, and the Doctor looked away to give them their privacy. _Next year_ \- no. Don’t even entertain the idea. He scowled at himself, 900 bloody years old. _Creep_ , he heard her condemn.

“Right, you! Come ‘ere!” 

Devastatingly, a small detail he may never live down nor find a way to live with for the remainder of his now miserable existence, the Doctor’s first kiss of 2006 was with Jackie Tyler.


End file.
